Page 27 of Guys Can’t Write Romance

Chapter eighteen

Interventions and Adult Entertainment

Rhino walked into the apartment, dropped his gym bag with a heavy thud, and stopped dead. The TV in the adjoining living room was playing something with snow globes and Christmas trees, and his roommate — his male roommate — sat on the couch watching it.

“No. No, no, no,” Rhino said. “Tell me you’re not in there watching a Hallmark movie.”

“It’s research,” Chad muttered from the couch, but the evidence of a one-man pity-party, complete with empty beer bottles and a half-eaten pizza, told otherwise.

“Research, my butt,” Rhino said as he entered the living room and stopped, eyes fixed on the TV. The scene had just cut to a man and woman baking Christmas cookies, their hands touching ‘accidentally’ as they reached for the same mixing spoon.

Rhino turned to Chad. “Seriously, bro? You’re turning yourself into a chick. Where’s Daisy?”

“She’s on a date.”

“With the boring guy?”

“Yup.”

“So, you’re just gonna sit here and mope watching chick flicks?”

“I’m not moping.” Chad held up his notebook. “See. Taking notes for my book. Go check out the yoga instructor so I can work.”

“No way, bro. We’re watching ‘Die Hard’ to get your T levels back to normal.”

Rhino walked over to the cabinet beneath the TV and opened it, clearly expecting to find their usual collection of action movies, horror films, and sports documentaries.

“No, wait!” Chad shot up from the couch a second too late, lunging forward in a desperate attempt to intercept his roommate.

“What in the actual hell?” Rhino said, staring at row after row of Hallmark movies, organized by season. Little sticky notes marked different categories: ‘Christmas Magic,’ ‘Small Town Romance,’ ‘Second Chances.’ There were even color-coded tabs sticking out of the cases.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Chad said.

“Really?” Rhino said, pulling out several DVDs and reading the titles with growing horror. “‘The Valentine Veterinarian’? ‘Mistletoe Mistakes’? ‘Summer Love’s Sweet Sunshine’?” He looked at Chad with the grave concern of a doctor delivering a terminal diagnosis. “Looks pretty bad, bro.”

“I told you. It’s research for that writing contest.”

Rhino shook his head. “No. This…” he pointed to the Hallmark DVDs “… is a cry for help. And as your friend, I’m getting you that help.”

“What kind of help?”

“The industrial-strength kind. Don’t move.”

Rhino disappeared into his bedroom and closed the door. A moment later, Chad caught bits and pieces of frantic calls Rhino was making: “Code Red. McKenzie’s gone full Hallmark. Need immediate extraction. Bring reinforcements. And maybe an exorcist.”

Chad groaned and sank onto the couch. He pressed the ‘play’ button on the remote, figuring he’d catch as much of the movie as possible before whatever storm Rhino was brewing made landfall.

Within minutes, Troy and Brett burst through the front door like police raiding a crime scene.

“We got here as fast as we could,” Troy said.

“I brought a cross,” Brett said, holding two sticks taped together in the form of a crude cross. “How bad is it?”

Rhino simply pointed to the TV, where the couple were now ice skating.

“I should’ve brought two crosses,” Brett said, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper.

“Guys. I need to watch this stuff for my book,” Chad said, throwing his hands in the air with exasperation. “There’s a cute yoga instructor at Rhino’s gym. Why don’t you guys go ogle her?”

“Who even says ‘ogle’?” Troy said.

Rhino just shrugged.

“Quiet, demon!” Brett said, holding the cross towards Chad. “Release Chad from whatever…” he pointed to the TV, where the skating scene had transitioned to hot chocolate by a fireplace, “… this is.”

“They were baking Christmas cookies before you got here,” Rhino said gravely.

“This is bad,” Troy said. “Alright, upsy-daisy, McKenzie. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“Do what?” Chad looked between his friends.

“Sorry, bro, but this is an intervention,” Rhino said. “Now, you can walk out of here like a man with what little dignity you have left, or we can carry you.”

Chad’s eyes went from Rhino to Troy and then Brett, who still held out the cross as if it might actually ward off the Hallmark influence. “You guys are crazy.”

“You’ll thank us for this,” Rhino said and gave Troy a nod.

Troy swooped in and grabbed Chad’s feet, while Brett set down the cross and grabbed Chad’s left arm, and Rhino grabbed his right arm.

“What the hell?” Chad said, squirming to free his arms and legs.

“Trust me, bro,” said Rhino. “This hurts us more than it hurts you.”

“It’s going to if you don’t let go!”

With a heave, the boys hoisted him off the couch and shuffled with him across the room toward the door.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll walk,” Chad said.

“Too late, demon,” Brett said as he nudged open the door with his foot and they carried Chad out.

Meanwhile, across town…

Culver City bustled with energy that night as Daisy and Ethan walked from his car, parked in one of the pay lots, to Le Petit Jardin on the next street.

The upscale French restaurant, with its garden patio and carefully curated wine list, was exactly the kind of place Ethan liked to feature in his date night rotations.

Daisy had picked out a nice blue dress for the night, and spent forty minutes getting her twisted updo just right; and if Ethan noticed any of it, he wasn’t letting on. It wasn’t that she was vain, she was actually far from it, but a simple acknowledgment of the effort would have felt nice.

A roar erupted from The Dugout Sports Bar as they passed, followed by cheers, whistles, and the clink of glasses. Looking through the window, a slight smile tugged at Daisy’s face as she saw people clapping each other on the back, spilling beer, and hugging strangers.

“I think the Dodgers are winning,” she said, slowing down to watch the celebration through the window.

“I suppose some people might find that exciting,” Ethan said, adjusting his tie. His tone carried a faint condescension.

“I do.”

He looked at her like she’d just burped in public. “Since when?”

“Since Chad helped me understand the game. It’s actually pretty fun.”

“Chad?” Ethan thought for a moment. “I don’t recall you mentioning him before.”

“He’s my writing partner. You met him once at my apartment.”

“Oh, the P.E. teacher,” Ethan said dismissively. “I remember him now.”

“He also coaches little league.” The defensiveness caught her by surprise, as did the sudden fond memories of watching Chad work with the boys on his team.

“I’m not surprised.” Ethan’s tone suggested this only confirmed his initial assessment.

“Maybe you and I could catch a game sometime? We could get us some jerseys, and spend the afternoon drinking beer and eating wings.” Even as the words left her mouth, she realized there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of it happening.

“In a sports bar?” He shot her a look like she’d just asked him to lick a toilet.

“Yeah. It would be fun. They have these giant pretzels with cheese sauce.”

Ethan looked at her for a moment, like he was waiting for the punchline. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything. Those people aren’t our crowd, Daisy. They don’t value the same things we do. I’d be willing to bet that most of them peaked in college and are going nowhere in life.” He nodded toward the bar window as if all of this was self-evident.

“Because they enjoy drinking beer and cheering on their team?”

“Because they never outgrew their adolescence. They’re still reliving their glory days of college instead of moving on and embracing adult forms of entertainment.”

“So, fun doesn’t factor into the equation?”

“Not if it traps you in a perpetual state of adolescence.”

Daisy felt something shifting inside her. “Why does everything have to be about ‘going somewhere’? Can’t it just be about enjoying the ride?”

“Now, you’re sounding like Chloe. And look where that’s gotten her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Daisy felt heat rising to her cheeks at the dismissal of her free-spirited roommate.

“It means, she’s twenty-nine years old and paints pottery for a living. How’s that going to look in ten years?”

“Chloe’s one of the happiest people I know. So, it’s working out pretty well for her.”

“Just wait, and you’ll see I’m right.” The patronizing certainty in his tone grated on Daisy’s nerves in a way it never had before.

As they resumed walking, the sounds of the sports bar faded behind them, only to be replaced by something that made Daisy stop in her tracks.

The familiar opening notes of ‘Sweet Caroline’ bellowed from the open patio window at O’Donnell’s Bar & Grill, where Daisy could see someone inside on a small stage, microphone in hand, leading the entire bar in song.

They looked happier than anyone Daisy had seen at Le Petit Jardin, and it tugged at something deep inside her.

The memory flashed suddenly of the framed photo of Chad and his friends singing karaoke with shameless abandon. And having an obvious blast doing it.

“Oh my gosh,” Daisy grabbed Ethan’s arm. “They’re doing karaoke! Can we go in?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on, Ethan. It looks so fun! I haven’t done karaoke since college.”

“Which is exactly the point I’ve been trying to make.”

“So, I have to stop having fun at a certain age, because some adult rulebook says so?”

“I’m not saying to stop having fun, Daisy. I’m just saying to embrace a more mature adult form of fun. And since when is watching a bunch of drunken people massacre classic songs fun?”

“But that’s the whole point of it. To just be silly.” She thought again of that photo in Chad’s apartment, of the uninhibited joy on his face. “Chad has this philosophy that bad karaoke is just beers and enthusiasm winning out over talent. And the worse the singing, the better the memories.”

“You’re taking social cues from someone who throws balls with kids for a living?” His tone dripped with barely concealed disdain.